


Suckers

by lejf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf
Summary: Sam covers his chest protectively, staring in affront. His dick is standing at attention, though, but Sam figures his nipples need the cover more from Dean’s restless and slightly invasive freakin’ hands.





	

It’s blazing hot, and he’s in their motel room, so no one can blame Sam for abandoning his shirt as he sits in the chair researching their next case, distantly concerned that the newspapers are going to spontaneously burst into flame.

Somewhere, the door opens but Sam’s so absorbed in scanning the articles he’s got pinned to the wall about maulings on seemingly arbitrary days that he doesn’t notice Dean’s there until a sharp slap lands across Sam’s chest. His entire body jumps like it’s been electrocuted. The hit goes straight from his nipple to his dick, and a breathless “Ah!” escapes him as he jolts forward. It’s the noise that gives him away, and maybe the fact that his dick has reared to life and tented his shorts.

He knows that if he hunches over and tries to hide his erection it’ll be a lost cause. Dean will be on that like an absolute _dog,_ so Sam tries to play it off, leaning back into his chair like nothing’s just happened, except his mind is racing a mile a minute and he’s too scared to even breathe because it might attract Dean’s attention to him. Truthfully, though, he knows it’s too late. Dean’s footsteps have stopped and his eyes are drilling a hole into Sam’s back. Sam silently prays to a random pagan deity that Dean will let it go. (No way he’s praying to god or any of the angels.)

There’s only the barest hint of feet on carpet before Dean’s hands are suddenly covering his pectorals and Dean’s snickering in his ear, but Sam’s not really hearing, because his pink nipples are caught between Dean’s fingers and Dean’s squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. Sam’s chest arches into it instinctively and a “Fuck!” falls from his lips as Dean rolls the nubs, so tiny and seemingly inconsequential beneath Dean’s thick fingers. Dean squeezes. Sam’s world is falling apart. He’s never known his chest was this sensitive.

When Dean rolls them again, Sam’s gone. His underwear fills with something wet and warm and he shudders through the aftershocks under Dean’s hands. He hears, “Holy shit, did you just–”

The chair is flung across the carpet as Sam hurls it aside and flies into the bathroom, face so impossibly red that it’s not the newspapers that are in danger of being caught aflame anymore. He sets the shower running and collapses on the toilet lid, wiping away the mess of his underwear and then sitting with his head in his hands. His legs are still shaky from coming, breath unsteady, nipples hardened from Dean’s attentions.

Dean’s suspiciously silent in the other room. Sam was expecting crowing, but... nothing. He swears he hears the front door close. Did Dean just leave? Trepidatiously, Sam shuts the shower, peeking out the door. The room is empty.

The first thing he does is throw on a tank top. Then he picks up the chair laying on the carpet and sits it back up. Trying to look at the case is absolutely fruitless, but Sam somehow manages to get back into it after a few hours, all the way until the sun’s set and he takes an actual shower and goes straight to bed.

They don’t talk about it the next day. Sam’s not sure when Dean came back in last night, but he’s clearly hungover in the morning, so Sam goes on his own to interview a few witnesses in their homes who give him contradictory information. When he comes back he’s also brought lunch, and Dean is somehow _still_ in bed, the lazy ass. Sam sets the takeout containers on the table. “You should get up,” he says, frowning.

There’s a noise of protest, but then a bleary eye opens and his brother hauls himself out of the bed, hair everywhere, cracking a yawn. He pads over to the food, inspecting it. Then he reaches over and squeezes Sam’s nipple. Right through his shirt. Sam’s knee flies up to defend himself and ends up smashing the bottom of the table, sending a stray pastry soaring. “Dean!” he says, voice a lot shriller than it should be. “You can’t just _do_ that!”

“You bet your ass I can. That’s for telling me to get outta bed,” Dean grumbles. Sam covers his chest protectively, staring in affront. His dick is standing at attention, though, but Sam figures his nipples need the cover more from Dean’s restless and slightly invasive freakin’ hands.

Sam’s clearly wrong, because Dean reaches down and gropes his dick instead and then both of Sam’s hands shoot downwards to protect his crotch and he’s blabbering something like, “Oh my god, Dean, what are you doing, dude– that’s my _dick!!_ ” Except he’s just fallen for Dean’s masterplan because now his poor chest is unprotected and Dean lunges with such ferocity that his chair goes tumbling to the floor. The impact rattles his skull and Dean takes that opportunity to sit on his chest, hands tearing off the thin top and groping gratuitously, rubbing around Sam’s dusky pink nipples and making him groan.

“Dean–” It’s supposed to be a protest but it honestly only sounds lewd. Dean grins down at him, widely, but Sam doesn’t have the capacity right now to argue. At the first brush of Dean’s rough fingers against his nubs, Sam’s legs fall wide open and his head tips back. “Dean–” he gasps, “stop–”

Dean does, but it’s only to pull down the waistband of Sam’s trousers under his balls and reorient himself so that he’s no longer on Sam but above him. Sam’s just lying on the floor on a fallen chair now, nothing keeping him down, but for some reason he doesn’t get up. He blames this on the way Dean’s staring at his exposed cock, the way it’s drooling and thick and red. Then, when Sam doesn’t get up and lies there instead, relaxing his muscles in acceptance, Dean goes for another pass at his nipples, thumbs swiping over the tight pink buds. Sam’s hips jerk uncontrollably and someone’s moaning fills the room. His.

Dean’s shirt disappears over his head, and his shorts are being pulled down while Sam squirms impatiently. He wants Dean back on his chest. Now, preferably. Dean leans forwards, Sam’s vision filling with the sight of Dean’s skin, and Dean’s _mouth_ is on his skin. Sam is a hair away from coming as Dean’s tongue swipes over the areola and then swirls his aching nub, sucking. Sam’s other nipple is being fingered incessantly, rolled and gently pinched and grazed over.

In an instant Sam realises that, because of their almost 69 position, his head is also about _this_ close to Dean’s chest, and if he arches his neck forward a little... the groan that Dean lets out around his tit as Sam latches on is so dirty that Sam clenches inside and comes almost immediately, hands grasping Dean’s sides and thumbing Dean’s chest as he shoots ropes far enough to paint all up his stomach and into Dean’s hair. The sound that he lets out is pretty clearly his brother’s name.

Then Dean’s leaning back and stripping his cock like a madman, eyes locked onto Sam’s until they squeeze shut and he paints Sam’s face and chest with his release.

In their panting aftermath, of all the important things Sam could say — should say —, he points out, “You’ve got come in your hair.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got come all over,” Dean mutters, grabbing Sam’s shirt and using that to wipe down his hair and Sam’s chest.

Sam’s eyes narrow at the sight of his shirt so blatantly tarnished. “You're gonna have to eat the pastry that fell on the floor.”

“This one?” Dean asks, mischief dancing in his eyes, and leans down and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> I went from writing statistics for these guys yesterday to _this_. Horrifying.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: typo where I wrote ... "right through his shit" instead of shirt.


End file.
